by Brianna Hale
I watch her hurry away, smiling to myself, wondering how long it will be until she’s back.
I hope it’s not too long. I definitely want to see her again.
Chapter Three
Amelia
I walk out of the gym in a daze, my insides feeling like they’re made out of cotton candy, all fluffy, pink and happy.
That was… Okay, that was… What was that? The last hour seems to have passed in a blur. I did things and I didn’t know why I was doing them. I felt things and I didn’t understand why I was feeling them. Good things. Tingly and sparkly things. But sad and penitent things, too, until Dom took those bad feelings away again.
How did he do that with just his voice and his eyes?
I walk back to the office, trying to untangle my complicated feelings. I need to write about what just happened in some sort of professional manner that makes sense, and yet nothing that happened makes sense to me. Maybe it was just some stupid reaction to a gorgeous man saying some strange things?
The feeling doesn’t pass. The warmth and fizziness of my encounter with Dom persists the whole day. Thank goodness Suzanna doesn’t want the piece on Dom Fitness until the health and wellbeing special that we’re running in just over a week, because I need some time to think about it.
The next morning, I wake up and the first thing I do is curse Dom to hell and back.
“My muscles,” I moan, crawling out of bed and hobbling to the bathroom. I’m sore all over. My arms. My abs. My back. My legs. I swallow some painkillers and then get in the shower, blasting the water as hot as I can bear it.
Twenty minutes later, I’m no less sore. I feel absolutely terrible as I haul some pants and a blouse on, and swipe some mascara over my eyelashes. I thought exercise was supposed to make you feel good, not like you’ve been tied up in a sack and beaten with a hammer.
Somehow, I get through the day and collapse onto the sofa in the evening. In the corner of the living room, I glance at my easel and paints, which are gradually gathering dust. I wonder when I’ll feel like painting again. Definitely not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
As I stare at the ruins of something I once loved, tears fill my eyes. I don’t want to paint. My muscles hurt. I really am throwing a one-woman pity-party. I veg out on the sofa with a bag of corn chips and bad TV, willing all my sorrow away.
The next morning my muscles feel a little better, but I’m no closer to tackling the article I need to write about Dom Fitness. How can I write about it when I still don’t understand it?
In the middle of the morning, I’m sitting at my desk working on a listicle called Ten Signs You’ve Watched Too Many Serial Killer Documentaries, when my phone rings. It’s an unknown number.
“Hello, Amelia Tate speaking.”
“Amelia.”
Every faintly sore muscle in my body tenses. I know that deep voice. It can’t be… can it?
“It’s Dom from Dom Fitness. I’m calling to ask why you haven’t returned to the gym yet. You’re due for your next session. If I don’t see you soon, I’ll be very disappointed in you.”
His voice becomes velvety as he speaks that last sentence. He’ll be disappointed in me. Immediately, I feel… wibbly. I don’t even know what wibbly is. Halfway between wobbly and something else. Something fizzy.
“Oh, um, I’m not… you don’t need to…” I trail off, gulping for air. How does this man set me so off balance?
“How is your piece going for your editor?”
Terribly. I haven’t started. “Great!”
I don’t sound very convincing.
“I wouldn’t want you turning in work that’s not your best. It’s difficult to grasp what we can achieve at Dom Fitness after just one session. It would be ideal if you returned for another.”
I gnaw on my lip, both enticed by and terrified of the idea.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Amelia? Did you not enjoy your session?”
I don’t know. It was all so strange. I suppose I did enjoy it in a weird sort of way, especially the way he made me feel afterward. Even though I screwed up and was rude to him, he doesn’t seem to be holding that against me. “No, I did enjoy it. It was a really good session.”
I’m surprised to find I mean that, despite how sore it made me.
Dom waits, and the silence is heavy.
I turn to the window, trying to block out my co-workers. “It’s just so weird being in a public space and hearing you talk to me that way. It’s so personal.”
It’s his gym and I expect him to be annoyed that I’ve just rejected the way he runs his business, but to my surprise, he’s sympathetic.
“I understand. You’re new to this and I want you to feel comfortable, and I don’t like giving up on people. I have a fully equipped gym at my home. Why don’t you come around this evening and I’ll train you there so you can get used to my methods in a low-pressure environment? Then we can take it back to the gym when you’re ready.”
His methods. Alone at his house. My heart patters against my ribs. My nether regions are tingling. “I guess I could do that,” I say casually, pretending that there aren’t fireworks going off in my underwear at the thought of being alone with Dom while he tells me what to do.
Not that I like being told what to do. It’s boring and annoying. And stuff.
I hear the warmth in his voice, as if he’s smiled broadly. “Wonderful. Your body will thank you for it. I’ll email you the address. Seven suit you?”
Yeah, my body is what’s getting me into this mess. “Um, all right. See you then, Dom.”
He waits, disapproval permeating his silence. “See you then, what, peaches?”
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s saying. Oh, my god. He wants me to call him daddy. I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper, “But we’re not in the gym now.”
Dom’s voice deepens as he grows sterner. “Being treated as a special case is a privilege. I need you to respect that privilege by following my rules.”
In the lowest voice I can manage, I cup my hand around my phone and whisper, “Yes, daddy.”
Everyone within a six-foot radius of my desk suddenly meerkats up from behind their computers, shock and glee coloring their faces.
Dom chuckles, a warm, rich sound. “Good girl. I’ll see you tonight.”
I put the phone down and turn to face my computer, my face burning as I’m peppered with questions.
“Amelia, who are you calling daddy?”
“Who wants to bet that she wasn’t talking to her father.”
“Is this the trainer from Dom Fitness? Are you calling him daddy now?”
“I didn’t think you had it in you. Suzanna! Amelia is calling that trainer guy daddy!”
Suzanna comes out of her office. She’s delighted when she hears what my co-workers have to tell her—so delighted that she asks me to increase the scope and word count of the piece and make it a feature article.
“Go for the virgin-in-a-sex-club angle. You know, the wide-eyed ingénue out of her depth. This is going to be a click magnet!”
It’s my first feature. I can’t very well say no. I don’t know why it’s easier to be a brat and stand up for myself to Dom, when he’s the one I should be terrified of. Suzanna probably weighs about as much as one of his thighs.
“Yes, of course, Suzanna. Thank you,” I find myself replying meekly.
I leave the office at five-thirty, change into my gym clothes and eat a muesli bar and an apple. Then I’m at the address Dom gave me by seven-fifteen. Oops. I didn’t check to see how long the train would take to get there, so I’m a bit late. Oh, well. It’s not like it matters.
I ring the doorbell, and when Dom opens the door, he’s glaring at me.
“Not a great start, peaches. Inside.”
Apparently, it matters.
I follow Dom through his house. He’s wearing gray sweats and a white T-shirt, and I almost whimper as he turns to me and points at the stationary bike. A
ll the muscles of his chest are clearly delineated beneath the cotton fabric, and the gray sweats hug his… outline his…
My cheeks heat, and I haven’t even started exercising. I’m not the sort of woman who even drools over the outline of men’s junk in underwear ads, and yet here I am itching to caress the real-life bulge in Dom’s highly removable sweatpants. All that’s holding them up is a flimsy bit of elastic. One little tug and off they’d come. So would my leggings, for that matter.
“Peaches,” Dom says sternly when I don’t move. “The bike.”
“Oh! Yes.” I put my bag down against the wall and clamber up on the bike. When I start to pedal—he’s already adjusted it for my height, that was thoughtful—he takes hold of the handlebars and the bike’s seat, which almost feels like he’s got his arms around me.
“How’s your week been?” he asks, his face close to mine.
He’s standing so close that I don’t know where to look. My eyes finally settle on his left hand, which is close to mine on the handlebars. No wedding ring, I notice.
“Um, good thank you.”
He raises his eyebrows expectantly.
“Good thank you, daddy.”
A slow, heated smile spreads over his face. He seems to like it when I call him that. God, he smells good. Like coconut body wash, Deep Heat and clean cotton. Fresh and fiery at the same time.
“Are you going to punish me for being late?” I ask, and I feel a tight clenching low in my belly. It’s almost like I want him to punish me. I hated my cold shower the other day, but damn, having him be sweet to me afterwards was all kinds of amazing.
“Of course,” he says, his eyes never leaving my face. “This is just like your workout at the gym.”
I suck my lower lip into my mouth, and then whisper, “Okay, daddy.”
Dom’s eyes drop to my mouth and then stay there. He really is standing so close. Still looking at my lips, he says, “Get down on the floor. Lay on your back.”
I do as I’m told, conscious of his eyes following my every movement. His huge body looms over me. I lay on the large, spongey matt that’s as big as a king-sized bed.
“Close your eyes. And raise your hands.”
I close my lashes and move my hands until they’re straight up in the air. My heart beats wildly, wondering what’s about to happen. A moment later, Dom drops something heavy into my hands. I open my eyes in surprise, and see that I’m holding… a basketball? No, wait, it’s really heavy. I remember these from physical education classes in high school. It’s a medicine ball.
A really unsexy medicine ball.
“Sit-ups,” Dom orders.
Ugh, I hate sit-ups, but I do as I’m told, holding the ball. I do three sets of ten, and then collapse onto my back with it on my chest, gasping for breath and my core on fire. Thank goodness that’s over.
“Ten more. Your punishment is to do an extra set of everything. No whining. No crying. Go.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and do as I’m told. Damn, I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.
Once I’m done with the sit-ups, Dom continues to name exercises for me to do. He alternates between encouraging me sweetly to barking orders at me like I’m a police dog. Harder! Higher! Again! When I’m fuming with irritation and exhaustion, he drops his voice to the sexiest rumble and starts referring to himself as daddy. You’re being such a good girl for daddy. I know you can do it for daddy. Daddy’s so pleased with you, peaches. And suddenly my core is blazing again, but in a very different sort of way, and I’m doing what he tells me to do.
I finish up the workout with twenty minutes on the bike. Dom stands with me the whole time, chatting to me about my work, my hobbies and my home. He’s relaxed now, and smiling, and I feel a warm buzz in my chest that he’s looking at me with a melted honey expression in his brown eyes. As if he… likes me?
“I was so sore after my last workout,” I say, easing myself off the bike. Dom holds my hand and helps me down as if I’m a lady in a fine dress getting out of a carriage, rather than the hot mess I am.
“That’s because you didn’t do any stretching. Because you threw a tantrum before we finished. Remember?”
I roll my eyes. Of course I remember.
“Peaches, roll your eyes at me again and I’ll dump you in an ice bath.”
I quickly rearrange my features into a more polite expression.
“Good girl. Now, get down on the mat and I’ll take you through some stretches.”
He manipulates my body into all sorts of positions, and then holds them, stretching my aching muscles. It feels so good that I can’t help the small moans of pleasure and release that escape me. He names each of the positions as we finish them, and his voice seems to get rougher by the minute.
I open my eyes after a hip flexor stretch and find that he’s kneeling between my knees and gazing down at me intently. We stare at each other for a moment. The gold flecks in his eyes are gleaming even brighter than usual.
Dom grasps my ankle and thrusts it over my head. “Hamstring stretch,” he mutters. “Pull your ankle toward your chest. More. You need a deep stretch in your thighs and hips.” He puts one hand on my calf and the other on the back of my thigh. The weight of his heavy body is on me, and I gasp in pleasure.
“Is that good?” he asks.
My ankle is so close to the side of his face that I can feel the bristles of his beard. I want to reach up with both my hands, cup his face and bring it down to mine.
“Yes, daddy,” I gasp, my head thrown back, reveling in the deep stretch and the feel of his body against mine. “That’s so, so good.”
He keeps pushing in rhythmic pulses, and I moan some more, giving into the sensations.
Dom pulls away suddenly, and I whimper at the loss of him. When I open my eyes and look up at him, he’s glaring at me, breathing fast. My eyes travel down his body, and—
Oh.
Oh my.
His cock is hard, and it’s tenting his sweats.
I bite my lip, wondering if he’s angry with me. Was I making really porny noises? Have I overstepped a boundary and he’s going to chuck me out?
“Dom, um, I’m—”
“I told you,” he says tightly, “to call me daddy.”
“Sorry, daddy,” I whisper.
“Why are you sorry, babygirl?”
I hesitate, and then just decide to go for it. If he kicks me out, he kicks me out. Or maybe he’ll spank me for being filthy. That would work for me. “Because I got really turned on while you were stretching me, and I think you noticed. That’s not allowed, is it? Like, touching each other in a way that’s not for the sake of the workout, and stuff?”
His eyes gleam brighter. “We’re not in the gym, now. Those rules don’t apply.”
So we aren’t. But now I’m unsure what to say next.
He grasps my thigh and goes back to stretching me, only this time the thick rod of his erection is pressed tightly against my clit. He rubs back and forth with each press against my hamstring muscle.
“How’s that?” he asks, gazing down at me. He plants one hand by the side of my head. He’s practically on top of me.
“God, yes, daddy. So good. So, so good.”
“Do you want more?”
“Please. Don’t stop.” I reach up and put my hands on his shoulders, holding on for dear life.
Dom shifts his weight back a little. “Change legs.”
I switch so my left calf is over his shoulder. His eyes are blazing into mine as he slowly rubs against me, the pleasure of the stretch and the friction against my clit making me moan.
“Now both legs.”
I put both my legs up on his shoulders. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but it feels amazing and I never, ever want it to stop. He palms my belly, and then slides his hand up to my breasts. I arch into his touch, needing more of it. Needing more of him.
“Is this what usually happens after a really good workout with you?” I gasp.
His mouth q
uirks in a smile. “Hell no, peaches. But there’s just something extra sweet about you that I can’t resist.”
No one’s ever called me sweet before. Prickly, stuck-up, kind of bitchy, yes. But never sweet. And it’s just me he feels like this with? I’m special? That’s just so wonderful to hear.
He reaches down and strokes his thumb over my sex. He finds my clit and rubs me in lazy circles through my leggings, making the golden feeling intensify. “Such a good little brat,” he purrs. “That was a hard workout and you did it all without complaining. Daddy’s so proud of you.”
“Why does it feel so good when you talk like that?” I ask, my eyes closing. “It’s weird and icky, but it also makes me want—makes me want—”
“What does it make you want, babygirl?”
“Makes me want to come,” I confess in a whisper.
“That’s good, peaches. Because when you’re like this it makes me want to fuck you.”
I open my eyes, giving him a sly look. “What about when I’m bratty?”
He smiles a devilish smile. “That makes me want to fuck you harder.”
I moan softly. “Please, yes.”
Dom grasps the waistband of my legging and my underwear at the same time and pulls them down my legs and off over my sneakers. Then he grasps both my ankles in one hand, pulls them up over my head and swats my behind.
“Ow!”
“Stay there,” he tells me.
He stands up, pulls his T-shirt off, and then heads out of the room. I watch him go, staring at his muscled back and rubbing the hot handprint on my bottom. Oh, my god. I think I’m about to get fucked. By Dom, the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. I put my hands over my face, terrified and turned on at the same time.
Dom comes back and kneels between my thighs. I open my eyes and see he’s holding a condom. He’s also completely naked now and his cock is thick—monstrously thick—and hard.
“Touch yourself. Be a good girl for daddy.”
Shyly, I reach down between my legs and slide my fingers over my clit. I’m all slippery. He watches me, palming his cock in his hand.